what I would like to say to my husband, but won't, since it's father's day

Dear Hyphen,

It was really impressive the other night, when after breaking the disposal and clogging up the sink, you were able to fix it.  The Spurs were playing, and you were hot and tired from work and were looking forward to coming home and watching the game--we all were.  But then the sink clogged and you spent three hours fixing it, saving us hundreds of dollars in plumbing fees.

I appreciated your honesty, that you thought you stuffed too much fish down the disposal (unlike the time I put a lemon down it and pretended I didn't know why it broke), and that you were glad that it happened on your watch and not mine, because you said if I had broken it, you would have been mad.  It's good that you can admit your failings, that sometimes you lack patience and get mad about things that just happen and are not really anyone's fault.

I helped you that night, I cleaned up the greasy, disgusting mess, and I did it with loving kindness and was even having some sexy feelings toward you in a you-cave-man-and-fix-things-and-me-cave-woman-and-clean-things kind of way.

But it is really too bad you didn't spend three hours and ten minutes fixing it.  Because if you had, you might have thought to connect the water-line that leads from the dishwasher to the disposal, whereby preventing the second mess I just had to clean up in the kitchen and also preventing the comment "well, if you hadn't run the dishwasher, this never would have happened, so it is kind of your fault."

I am dazzled by your incompetence, both as a plumber and a human being.

Kind regards,
your dear and loving wife

P.S. Happy father's day dude.

For my brother, who misses it

Audrey and the girls came to see us this weekend, and so as part of the Summer of Fun 2013, cousin edition, we loaded up the van and headed to Galveston.

Where we did some of this

Little Surfer girl

Sam

Tootles, not in the water for the first hour we were there, just snacking

Two peas in a pod

Now, I am in the water

Lilly

And saw some of this

why are only baby wedgies cute?  Like this on a 39 year old is just gross, right?

We never get tired of seeing brown pelicans

And wrote some of this about a million times.

When I was working, and pregnant, I had this friend who told me that I would love having kids and most likely be a good mom but that I would find my children "tiresome and wearisome."  I found this comment peculiar.  Very peculiar.  But the guy was and is an egghead, so I discounted it and moved along because no one was going to bring me down from my new mommy high with their somewhat dour perspective on parenthood.

But 5 years and two kids into it, I get it.  They can be tiresome and wearisome.  Hell, on the way to Galveston we had to endure whining about hunger, whining about the stop to get food where we had to get one of the twins out of the third row while in the to-go line for a potty break, hear more whining about needing to hear the ice cream and cake song, fighting about the music being too loud and too quiet, fighting about cupholders, blankets and teddy, plus the fake vomit from the third row vs. fake poop from the second row fight--all of which caused H to comment "too bad this isn't a 15 hour road trip."  Oh, and did I mention that while gassing the van at the Valero on Crosstimbers (why he would choose to gas the car on crosstimbers is a mystery to me, especially when his wife, children, sister-in-law and nieces are in it) H was called a racial slur by an old man who looked like a black Santa on crack. ("hey, chink, you got two quarters?"  except chink was said in a loving way, like bro, or buddy)

So, yeah, I get it they can be tiresome and wearisome.  The point is, sometimes you get tiresome and wearisome.  And sometimes, you get this:

 

At the doctor's office....

Imaginary play has kicked in, big time.  I heard this today as I was cooking and she was playing in the kitchen with the doctor's kit she stole from Annabelle.  Her patient was a stuffed frog also stolen from Annabelle's room.

"Hello, my name is docdohr Ta-loo-lah.  You bwoke youhr ahrm.  You need shot now.  Dehehr you go.  Good job.  High 5.  Now you go see docdohr cook now.  No, he no give you a spanking.  He nice"

For someone who is so sure that Dr. Cook is nice, she sure pitches a fit when we go to see him.  Just saying....

zydeco soul

If you know me, and you would have to really know me, then you would know that I really like accordion music--of all varieties.  I used to drive to my parents house on Saturday mornings rather than Friday night, just so I could hear a radio station out of La Grange's Saturday morning polka hour, where they would play classics such as "shut up and drink your beer" and "horsey keep your tail up."  Once, at a CLE, I tried to spread my love of polka music but was made fun of for calling the accordion the squeeze box--of course they made something perverted out of it, but that just tells me that if you asked them jak se mas, one of them would just be like, "I am fine and watching star wars and waiting for the market to crash" and the other one would cry like a girl if you got mayonnaise near him.

Every year in Houston, there is an accordion festival and I have always been too busy or out of town to go.  But not this year. This year, as part of the summer of fun 2013, we went.

It started of with the chezchaholics, then there was an accordion contest, and then a zydeco band and then a band called the home town boys.

The kids started off dancing and we picnicked, of course, and then the zydeco came on.   Annabelle eventually got tired, and made herself comfortable right next to some other people's blanket, basically lying down right next to a stranger.  Tallulah got her grove on, big time, and danced for the entire set.

I am not sure where she gets it from....well maybe I am...

happy feet

polka and two